


Two Boys

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dark fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Slavery, Tevinter Imperium (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24951592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: Jack Trevelyan and Dorian Pavus fell in love during the war against Corypheus.But what if they had met as children?
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Two Boys

There was a boy swimming in the sea.

Dorian rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, the boy was gone.

He whipped around. None of the sailors on deck had noticed anything. The captain was with his father at the helm, both of them deep in conversation.

He turned back to the waves. All morning, he had felt queasy. They were sailing around the island where the grim tower of Ostwick Circle stood. His father had reassured him that they would pass it quickly, but Dorian had still suffered nightmares the night before. Had he imagined the boy?

Then a wave dipped low, and there, in the middle of churning foam, was a hand raised to the sky.

“Father!” Dorian shouted. “FATHER!”

Magister Pavus turned with a frown.

“There’s a boy in the water!” cried Dorian.

His father and the captain came down the stairs to the lower deck. A few of the men came to the rail. The boy was gone again. The water was rough, lifting and dropping the ship in nauseating waves. Dorian could already hear his father, “forgive my son, he forgets that he is a boy of eight and not a sailor,” when a pale head breached the water.

“Maker’s breath,” said the captain. He shouted to a Rivaini man who tied a rope around his waist. The sailor leaped into the water, disappearing before resurfacing and swimming for the boy.

Dorian danced from foot to foot. His father clapped a hand on his shoulder to still him. The sailors all grabbed the rope, and on the command of the captain began to pull. They heaved until the sailor and the child in his arms were hauled over the rail. 

“I was the one who saw him,” said Dorian, though no one was paying him attention. The sailors crowded around the boy, hiding him from view. The captain shouted for them to give him some air and they backed up.

The boy was naked. His stick-thin arms were wrapped around his body, his lips, fingers, and toes turned blue. Dorian had never seen someone so skinny still be alive. 

“He’s cold." Dorian was suddenly afraid the boy would die right there. “Father, can I give him my cloak?”

The magister waved a finger at a sailor. The man disappeared below deck and returned with a potato sack. He ripped it in half and wrapped it around the boy’s shoulders.

“Where are you from?” The captain’s tone was harsh. “Who are your people?”

“He’s scared." Dorian tried to go to the boy, but his father’s hand was a talon on his shoulder.

“Where are you from, boy?” asked Magister Pavus. “We will not hurt you.”

The boy only shivered. Dorian wondered if he was simple. His body was stunted and mutilated with scars, including a hideous incision along one side of his head. He could have been anywhere from seven years old to thirteen. 

“He’s likely from the tower,” said the captain. “Mages try to escape from time to time.”

Halward Pavus’s face darkened. Dorian’s excitement drained away, replaced by unease. He and his father had been traveling through the south: the magister on business, Dorian to see the world. They were both protected by their diplomatic immunity, but Templars here were not like Templars back home, and even Magister Pavus with all his influence had given them a wide berth.

“We should take him with us,” said Dorian, with sudden conviction. “Look at what they did to him.”

Magister Pavus was looking at him, and not in a good way. “Are you mage, boy?”

The boy did not answer. The captain stepped forward and inspected the scars on his body. “Heard rumors about Ostwick Circle. They do queer things to children there.”

"Will it delay us to dock at Ostwick?” asked Magister Pavus.

“We’ll lose a day,” said the captain.

The boy’s attention snapped into focus. He was suddenly aware of his surroundings, listening to the words being spoken about him. His eyes met Dorian's. It made every serious moment of Dorian’s life seem like play. All at once, the boy was a person. A person with a life and a story. This wet, frightened, half-dead thing pulled from the sea was alive because Dorian had saved him. 

“No. No, you can’t. He escaped,” said Dorian. 

“Dorian, listen to me—”

“You can’t send him back.” Dorian tugged away from his father. 

“We cannot risk the Chantry pursuing us north,” said Magister Pavus. “Our immunity in the south depends on our cooperation with their customs.”

“What if it was me? Would you send me back to the Templars if I had escaped them?”

“Don't be absurd. He belongs to their Circle. If the Templars were to find us in possession of a runaway mage...We cannot risk it.”

Dorian didn’t want to touch the boy, but now was the time for dramatics. He fell to his knees and threw his arms around the boy’s neck.

“Do not make me have you dragged to your quarters," said Halward.

The drowned boy, thankfully, seemed to realize the game, and wrapped his bony arms around Dorian. 

Dorian did not dare look at his father. He clamped his eyes shut, wracked between a certainty that he would actually die if the boy was thrown back to the wolves and a delight that he could play his father like a fiddle.

Eventually, the magister sighed. “Dorian, get up.”

“No,” said Dorian. “Not unless you give me to the Templars, too.”

“Do not anger me,” said the Magister. “Get up.”

Dorian got up, putting himself between the boy and his father.

“Do you understand what you are asking?” said Magister Pavus.

“You were the one who taught me the difference between right and wrong.”

Halward washed a hand down his face. The sailors were shifting in place, glad for the break in their duties but otherwise indifferent. Dorian could drag this out forever if he wanted.

“Fine,” said his father. “The boy will remain below deck for now. But I want to appraise his abilities. If he is unstable, as many southern mages are, we will return him, is that clear?”

"He can come back to Tevinter with us?” asked Dorian.

“Perhaps,” said Halward. “Until then, let him rest.”

Dorian allowed himself be ushered back to his father's side. The same sailor who had fished the boy from the sea lifted him in his arms as if he was a bundle of sticks and carried him below deck. Dorian watched him go, a thin rind of hope in his heart.

* * *

It was almost two days before Halward Pavus was able to conduct his interrogation. When he returned, Dorian lay on the bed in his and his father's shared quarters, reading a book about glyphs. The door opened, and his father stepped inside. Dorian pretended not to notice.

“I spoke with our guest,” said Magister Pavus. He went to the table by the window and uncorked a bottle of wine.

“Oh?” asked Dorian, trying to sound indifferent.

The wine bottle glugged. Magister Pavus poured a glass to the rim. “He is a broken boy, eager to escape his captors, and like most runaways is willing to subject himself to whatever terms we condition.”

He took a deep quaff. Dorian kept his eyes on the page. 

“I tested his arcane ability, what little he could manage, and while his theory is deplorable, his will is exemplary. Had he been born to a family who appreciated his gift, he might have flourished, instead of having years of potential wasted by fanatics eager to extinguish what they do not understand.”

"Will he stay with us?" asked Dorian. 

Halward let out a long breath. "Yes."

Dorian smiled.

"You did well to rescue him," said Halward. "Unformed as he is, I believe he will be an asset to our house." 

"May I go see him?" 

"You may," said Halward. "He is awake now. Remember that he is still weak. It will take time for him to heal." 

Dorian vaulted off the bed and ran down the hall to the brig. A Vashoth sailor had been posted outside the door.

"Move," said Dorian.

The horned giant did so. Dorian went inside. 

It was dark in the little room. A tallow candle burned on the nightstand, its smoke mingling with the smell of illness. Dorian curled his nose. He waved a small barrier around himself to ward off the stench, and the _ting_ of magic caused the skeleton on the bed to lift its head.

Too many seconds passed without anyone speaking, so Dorian made a show of checking his fingernails.

“My father says you are an impressive mage,” said Dorian. “Is that true?’

The boy did not answer. 

“It’s good if you are,” said Dorian. “Strong mages do well in Tevinter. Not that you would know.”

The comment was meant to be chummy, but it just came out snide. The boy’s face did not change. He was unlike any child Dorian had ever met. He seemed tired in the way grown-ups were tired. It made Dorian oddly jealous.

“My name is Dorian Pavus of Qarinas,” said Dorian. “What’s your name?”

No answer.

“I was the one who spotted you in the water,” said Dorian. “You probably would have drowned otherwise.”

Nothing. The boy turned his entire body to face the wall.

Dorian sat on the edge of the bed. “They wanted to give you back, but I made my father change his mind. You’ll be safe in Tevinter. The Templars are different there. They don’t cancel spells or anything.”

“Safe.” The word was barely a whisper.

“Yes,” said Dorian. “We don’t lock mages away in Tevinter. We rule, or at least most of us do." 

The boy didn't seem overly excited by this. Dorian was irritated, then sorry at his irritation. Wouldn’t he be the same way, had he not been born in Tevinter?

“You’ll live with me at our estate,” said Dorian. “Qarinas is warm, not like Ostwick. You’ll like it there.”

The boy’s cheeks were damp. Dorian felt something change in the room, the same way something had changed on the deck the first time he met the boy’s eyes. He suddenly wanted to keep this boy safe more than anything else in the world.

 _Because you’re mine,_ he thought. 

“What's your name?” Dorian asked again.

The boy said nothing for a long time. Then, with massive effort, he told him.

It was a dull name.

“How about Marius instead?” said Dorian. “Because you’re from the sea. You’ll fit in better in Tevinter if you have a Tevinter name.” When the boy only continued his silent weeping, Dorian said, "Do you want to see my grimoire? It’s leagues better than anything you have in the south.”

Without waiting for the answer, Dorian bounded off the bed and ran back to his room. He grabbed his book, ignoring his father smoking at the window, and spent the rest of the day reading aloud.

* * *

For the rest of the week, Dorian read to Marius from his travel library. Marius slept through most of it, but he woke for dinner. One night was cold chicken and cod, with a dessert of apple crumble and cinnamon. Marius stared at it the same way he did all food: as if he had been drugged.

“Do they not feed you in your Circle?” asked Dorian.

“No,” said Marius.

“Oh. You can have my crumble, then. It’s stale, because they have to keep all the food dry on a ship, but it’s still good. Here.”

He cut off a corner with his fork and raised it to Marius’s lips. Marius opened his mouth, and Dorian gently tipped it in.

“Good?” asked Dorian.

Marius chewed for a long time. When he swallowed, it was almost reluctantly. “Yes."

He ended up giving all of his meal to Marius, who ate cautiously, but reverently. It was the first time he did not puke it all up.

“Did you really swim all the way from the tower?” asked Dorian. It seemed impossible, given the living skeleton in front of him.

“Yes." 

“Did you use ice to create a float? I don't see how you could have survived otherwise. Your mana must have run out quick.”

“Yes,” said the boy.

Dorian nodded. He considered the grease smears on his plate. Then, in a soft voice, Marius said,

“Am I really never going back?”

“Of course not,” said Dorian, surprised. “I told you, I changed my father's mind. We’re not monsters, you know.”

Marius lifted his eyes. They were warm and brown. 

"I know," he said. 

Dorian’s heart brimmed. 

* * *

Hercinia passed them on the horizon. Then Wycome. Then Antiva city.

The winds grew warm.

The more distance they put between themselves and Ostwick, the more Marius healed. He ate more, slept less, and wasted fewer hours watching the crew like a beaten animal. His cheeks began to fill out, and his eyes, once feral, took on a keen intelligence.

Dorian spent most of his hours in the brig with Marius, studying magic with him. Marius rarely had much to add to the lessons, but he listened.

“We’ll have proper robes made for you in Qarinas,” said Dorian, one afternoon, peeling an orange at the edge of the bed. “You’ve probably never touched real silk before.”

Marius’s lips twitched.

“I mean, it’s not like you ever had a chance,” said Dorian.

The twitch again. It was almost a smile. 

“Really? Were your family merchants?” asked Dorian, biting into the orange.

“No,” said Marius.

Dorian paused. “Nobility?”

And there was the smile.

“But,” said Dorian, genuinely dumbfounded. “How could the Templars starve you?" 

"My family didn't care," said Marius.

"But your status-"

“I’m a mage,” said Marius. “That erases everything.”

Dorian could scarcely fathom it. 

“It's the opposite in Tevinter,” said Dorian. "We love magic there." 

“You make Tevinter sound like paradise,” said Marius.

“Well.” Dorian didn’t want to oversell it, but compared to what he had come from…. “Qarinas is beautiful.”

“I’m sure,” said Marius.

“My family has an olive grove. And almonds. The flowers will be blooming now.” Dorian was hit with a wave of homesickness. He had been abroad for over half a year. “The sun is always hot when you walk through the orchards.”

“It sounds lovely,” said Marius.

“And we have proper beaches there, not the rocky kind you have. Real sand. I like to ride my horse down them in the morning. The water never gets cold, and if the jellyfish aren’t bad, you can swim in it for hours.”

Marius smiled again. It made the muscles in Dorian's stomach flutter.

“The slaves bathe there in the morning, too. Brutto, he’s our baker, I let his son ride on my horse sometimes—”

Marius’s smile dimmed at the word "slaves."

“We treat them kindly,” said Dorian. He knew this was a sore point for southerners. They didn’t understand how Tevinter worked. “Most have been with our family for ages. They wouldn’t have anywhere to go if we didn’t give them work.”

Marius seemed to want to say something, but pressed his lips together.

“My father said we have to get water near Dairsmuid," said Dorian, quickly changing the subject. "He said we can go ashore. Do you think you’re strong enough?" 

“Dairsmuid?” said Marius.

“Yes,” said Dorian. “I know there’s a Circle there, but we’ll protect you if there's trouble.”

Marius drew his knees to his chest. He was still thin, but Dorian could see something resilient in him now, something that knew when to bend instead of break.

“All right?” asked Dorian.

“All right,” said Marius.

* * *

Their ship dropped anchor within sight of the beach. The water was crystal clear, and Dorian could see all the way to sandy bottom of the shallows. They were rowed ashore by the Vashoth sailor. A sea turtle swam under their dingy, and brightly-plumed parrots whistled from the dark green palms of the jungle.

At first, Marius refused to do anything but sit on the sand near the boat, checking over his shoulder as if he expected Templars to emerge from the trees at any second. Dorian challenged him to a race.

“I don’t think I'm well enough,” said Marius.

“Sure you are,” said Dorian. “Just to the low palm tree there.”

Marius studied the distance, then reluctantly nodded. Dorian drew a line in the dirt, counted to three, and they were off, spraying sand into the air.

It was hardly a race. Marius was out of breath after ten seconds. Dorian turned to see him flat on his back in the wet sand. The older boy panted at the sun, his skinny chest heaving up and down.

"Are you all right?" Dorian knelt beside him.

Marius wheezed. “I like your beaches."

“Well, this is a Rivaini beach,” said Dorian, running his fingers through the sand. “So.”

“Better in Tevinter?”

Dorian imagined them riding horses down the beach below the Pavus family estate as they grew up together. It was starting to hit him that this was real, that their lives were intertwined.

“Yes,” he said. “Much better.”

“And you won't send me back?” whispered Marius.

“Never,” said Dorian. He would never so much as breathe a word of Ostwick if that was what Marius wanted. He’d protect him from Templars, from his father, from everyone if need be. “No matter how many times you ask, the answer will always be the same."

Marius smiled.

* * *

By the time they docked in Qarinas, Marius had filled out. His cheeks were still gaunt, but he could race Dorian up and down the ship deck without panting, and wrestle with him in the sand when they stopped for supplies. The scars on his body were as ugly as ever, but Dorian had grown used to them. 

The way his jaw dropped at the sight of the Pavus family estate was a joy to see.

“I’ll show you around,” said Dorian. “Come on—”

“Dorian." Halward stood amidst the trunks being unloaded off the carriage. “Be sure to bring Marius to the courtyard at noon.”

“Yes, father.” Dorian took Marius by the hand.

They raced through the mansion. Their bare feet slapped down the tile hallways, the breath of the ocean billowing their shirts. Dorian showed Marius his favorite pomegranate tree in the garden. They giggled and slid down the rolling ladder in his father’s study. Dorian’s mother was locked in her bedroom with one of her midafternoon headaches, but Dorian promised they’d meet her at dinner.

“It’s beautiful,” said Marius, on a terrace overlooking the vineyards. “And hot.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said Dorian. “Race you to the courtyard?"

They were both covered in sweat by the time they came into the central courtyard. Halward Pavus sat at a small table, taking his wine. Their family’s blacksmith, a slave name Pulmo, stood nearby with a leather bag in his hand.

“There you are,” said Halward. He set his glass down. “I take it you showed Marius our home?”

“Yes, father,” said Dorian.

“It's incredible, Magister Pavus,” said Marius.

“It is,” said Halward. “Remember that you are here at our discretion.”

Marius’s smile wavered. “Of course, magister.”

“The word is _dominus_ from now on." Halward waved Pulmo over with a finger. The blacksmith set his bag on the table and lifted an iron collar from it.

All the color drained from Marius' face.

“As you are an unfamilied mage, the burden of your upkeep and training falls on the Pavus estate,” said Magister Pavus. “You will be treated gently here, but you will fulfill your debt.”

Marius did not answer. His eyes had gone as glazed and distant as the day he had been pulled from the sea.

“It’s not so bad,” said Dorian. “You won’t be working in the fields or anything like that. You'll help me with my lessons.”

Marius stared at him with unseeing eyes.

“This is the way it’s done here,” said Dorian. "I told you, we're kind to our slaves. You can have a new life this way." 

“I see,” said Marius. “Forgive me my ignorance, Lord Dorian.”

The transition stung, but Dorian supposed it had to happen sooner or later. They were home, after all, and he was lord here. Marius was a quick study-he would adapt.

“Kneel,” said Pulmo.

Marius did. He bowed his head, and Pulmo fitted the iron collar around his neck. It sealed shut with a flash of enchantment. Marius's head slumped as he stood, unused to the weight.

"You'll live in the chamber beside my room," said Dorian, excitedly. "We'll take our meals together, and you'll come to class with me. The teachers won't let you do magic, but you can watch and- Marius, what's wrong?" 

Marius's face was damp. "Nothing, my lord." 

"But you're crying." Dorian almost reached to brush the tears away, then remembered his father. "This is your home. You're _home_." 

Marius was silent. 

Dorian and his father took their lunch in the courtyard. Another slave showed Marius how to stand at attention, seen but unheard. His face stayed damp the entire time, his tears patting on the tile of the courtyard like the ticking of a clock.

It would be hard for him for awhile, very hard, but sooner or later he would realize what a gift this life was. He was here, he was alive, and he was safe. 

_And you're mine_ , thought Dorian. _You're mine, you're mine, you're mine._


End file.
